


Philos

by Slashy Goodness (allmadhere)



Category: Bandom
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-27
Updated: 2010-03-27
Packaged: 2017-10-08 08:46:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/74787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allmadhere/pseuds/Slashy%20Goodness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Normally, he'd just cross the street and ignore the homeless wrecks he saw on the street but this one was different. He wavered on the decision until he was hovering over the guy. He didn't smell, thank god. Actually, nothing but his posture seemed to really scream "homeless and destitute". He almost looked like an actor, playing at the part.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Philos

**Author's Note:**

> For Marie's Michael Jackson QuickFicFest. Andy teaches Mixon about relating to other human beings and their situation rather than being self-absorbed, yay! Because I like applying savagist ideas (the reconnection with nature bit) to people...?
> 
> Prompt: "I've been a victim of a selfish kind of love  
> It's time that I realize  
> That there are some with no home, not a nickel to loan  
> Could it be really me,  
> pretending that they're not alone?"  
> (Man in the Mirror)

Mixon sighed, watching how his breath clouded the cold air in front of his face before dissipating. He loved Milwaukee, really he did, but the cold was fucking ridiculous. He pulled his coat tighter, wondering if his next paycheck would be enough to let him buy a new one, when he saw a figure huddled at the corner over a vent. Normally, he'd just cross the street and ignore the homeless wrecks he saw on the street but this one was different. He wavered on the decision until he was hovering over the guy. He didn't smell, thank god. Actually, nothing but his posture seemed to really scream "homeless and destitute". He almost looked like an actor, playing at the part.

"What?" he monotoned, looking up at Mixon with dead eyes. He didn't reply, just dropped some change and ran off.

 

He walked by again the next day. He told himself it was only because this way to work led him by his favorite coffee shop. And he told himself as he walked out with two steaming cups that one of them was for Renee, the cute new secretary. He knew she didn't drink coffee. None of that explained why he lingered on the corner he'd seen that homeless guy at yesterday. It was empty. For a brief moment, he feared the worst, that he'd died in the night due to the extreme cold. That is until he saw the same guy, still surly but cleaned up better than one would have guess and wearing a suit that cost more than three of Mixon's paychecks combined. His jaw dropped. So did his coffees.

"You!" he exclaimed. He couldn't help himself. The guy glanced at him, then waved to his associates. One of them, a guy with a huge 'fro pulled and tamed into a ponytail, smirked and giggled.

"Go for it, Hurley, he's just your type!" The guy with the ponytail said. The guy, Hurley apparently, rolled his eyes and frowned. Another guy with a horrendously scene hair cut let out a braying laugh and a third in a fedora pulled the other two away. Hurley watched them for a moment before gesturing Mixon into the building he'd just exited. Mixon followed, curiosity getting the better of him. Maybe he'd stumbled onto some huge scandal or something. Hey, maybe the guy would pay him off to keep quiet and he could afford a new guitar amp or something!

Hurley led them through the opulent lobby to a large elevator with one wall made entirely of glass, affording an expansive view of the city below. Mixon whistled quietly and thought he spied Hurley smirking in a reflection. When the doors opened again at dizzyingly high floor, Hurley strode out confidently into the richly decorated hallway. Mixon followed tentatively. Shit, what if this guy was just going to somehow con him? He had no idea just how he'd do that but, with all the wealth he was flashing, it couldn't be too hard.

Hurley stopped at a door Mixon presumed to be his office. His face was expressionless now as he held the door open and gestured inside. Mixon swallowed and stepped into the room. It managed to be simultaneously filthy rich and opulent while still Spartan. Mixon probably needed to stop following NotCot so closely. He settled into one of the chairs he swore he'd only seen on the blog just last week.

"You're probably wondering about yesterday," Hurley began, gently closing the oak door before setting behind the large desk. "It's something I do every few months to reconnect so I don't lose perspective."

"Reconnect?" Mixon asked, head cocked to the side. "Perspective? What does any of that have to do with pretending to be homeless on the corner?" Hurley raised an eyebrow at him, mouth quivering again. "Wait, did you used to be homeless and then somehow make your way to a penthouse or something? Like some kind of Cinderella story?"

"No," Hurley answered, a laugh buried deep in his voice, "but I wasn't always the best off. Those other guys you saw, Joe, Pete, and Patrick? We all clawed our way to where we are. When we started out, we vowed that we wouldn't forget where we came from, that other people might need help. So each of us sponsors or backs a few charities. Pete does a lot of things overseas, especially Uganda. Joe and Patrick work with music and arts programs all over the country for the most part. I decided to help everyone else."

"Everyone else?" Mixon asked and could have slapped himself the second the words were out of his mouth. He'd really have to work on the whole filter thing.

"The ones that people tend to forget about, the ones that are often sneered at and looked down upon." Hurley frowned at the desk between them but Mixon knew it wasn't directed towards him. "People forget too easily and I don't want to lose sight of what and who I'm fighting for, why I do this." He looked up. "I can't do it completely alone though. And that, I think, is where you come in."

"Ummm, what?" Mixon blinked at him and Hurley actually smiled. "Why me? All I did was walk by and drop some change before I left. I mean, I literally took of running, dude."

"You walked by though. For the entire time I was out there, maybe four or five hours, only six people dropped change, you included. No one else looked at me. And definitely not in the eyes Fifteen or so crossed the street before they even reached me." Mixon's jaw dropped. Maybe Hurley had a point. "I think you might be able to help me out. You see it too. Your vision's a little cloudy, sure, but we can work on that. What do you say?"

Mixon thought of his shit office job, the tiny cubicle, the monotonous routine, how little he was actually contributing to society. Haven't be just been talking to Ryan about this the day before? He looked Hurley in the eyes and beamed. "Where do I sign?"


End file.
